


The Curious Incident of the Yak in the Night-time

by Chaos_Elemental



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Baroo messes around with a certain smelly mahjarrat, Gen, Prez you are an inspiration, Sea Shanty II, just for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26181838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_Elemental/pseuds/Chaos_Elemental
Summary: Zemouregal kidnaps the World Guardian's spirit yak. Unfortunately for him, Baroo is a lot smarter than he accounts for.Inspired by the comics and featuring the characters of the very excellentPrezleek.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	The Curious Incident of the Yak in the Night-time

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by a meme Prez shared on the Runescape Art Discord, inspired by [this](https://www.gocomics.com/calvinandhobbes/1990/08/29) comic from Calvin and Hobbes. Happy reading!

It was a beautiful, sunny day on Gielinor.* The river Dougne rippled and gleamed in the morning light. Vendors set up their stalls in the market, preparing their stock for a day of trade.** Down by the docks of Catherby, a singular man prepared, quite heartily, to loudly inform the world of a certain fruity foodstuff shipped exclusively from Karamja.***

And down in Ardougne, one Prezentine Leek let out a howl only known to those entrenched in crisis.

The adventurer read over the letter over and over again, the paper crumpling under his grip. The writing was shaky, scrawly, and written in what looked to be crayon. He would have thought it was penned by a child, if it weren’t for its contents.

_ Dear Prezentine, _

_ If you ever want to see your yak again, please leave the Shield of Arrav in a box by the ritual marker. Do not contact any authorities. You cannot find us. You cannot trace us. _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Zemouregal _

The note had come just that morning, clutched between Postie Pete’s unknowing jaws; contained within the envelope was a crude woodcut of a yak tied to a chair, the latter of which seemed in considerably more duress than its occupant. 

“How?!” Prez said, crouched next to a travel pack, into which he was already shoving various deadly implements. Alla watched him worriedly as she handed him dreadnips.

“How?” Prez said again, throwing up his hands. “I saw Baroo just last night! I fed him his hay, made sure the menagerie was locked, I did  _ everything _ ….”

“You know that Baroo is a spirit yak, right?” Alla said. “He could leave whenever he wants to. The other night I caught him out in the market, licking the bread at the sandwich lady’s stall.”

Prez shook his head. “But…  _ Zemouregal,  _ of all people? Baroo is smarter than that!”

“Maybe he used a spirit… thingie.” She stood up, grabbing her noxious bow from the coffee table. “Whatever it is, we’ll find him. We can’t just hand over Varrock to a necromancer.”

Prez sighed, grabbing his scythe from the umbrella stand. “We just need to find him soon.” He squeezed his eyes shut, suppressing a shudder. “Gods… he’s probably lost… and cold… and hungry… and scared….”

* * *

Sharathteerk stared at the creature before him, never breaking his gaze upon it. Its eyes were unseeable under the thick shag of hair on its head, but, even then, the gargoyle could not shake the feeling he was being watched. 

The yak was currently nosing through a pile of hay laid before it in the cell. It was a largish thing, but fairly docile — though something about it filled Sharathteerk with a pensive worry.

“Are you  _ sure _ ,” the gargoyle said, as he watched the yak rustle about, “that this is the correct animal, my lord? It seems too… meek.”

Zemouregal scowled. “Of course I’m sure, you granite-headed little imbecile! We tracked it down to the World Guardian’s residence, did we not? We bound it to this realm so it could not return to the spirit plane, if you may recall, and delivered the ransom note in such a way that the pretty-headed little fool could  _ never _ suspect it was us!”

“About that —”

“Silence! This plan is  _ foolproof, _ ” Zemouregal said, rubbing his hands together. “Soon, that accursed Imcando shield will be in my hands, and nothing shall stand between me and Varrock! Oh, how the World Guardian  _ rue _ the day he stole Arrav from me…”

The gargoyle coughed awkwardly. “With all due respect, my lord, I feel that something is… not right. This yak… I have heard tales. There have been whispers that it is a fearsome creature in battle… that it holds its own against hordes of monsters… that it has even defeated the warden of the Lost Grove…”

“Children’s stories!” Zemouregal barked. “Rumors and heresy. It’s a beast of burden. A hairy cow, for chaos’ sake! We have nothing to fear of it,” he said, wrinkling his nose, “but its smell.”

He turned. “I shall keep surveillance over the site. You watch the hostage, and ensure that the dim-witted human doesn’t attempt to spirit it away from us.”

The gargoyle nodded, stony-faced. The mahjarrat exited, leaving the room devoid of all but the sound of rustling hay and the pervasive scent of yak.

* * *

An hour later, and the scrunchy sound of dried vegetation had all but filled the room and Sharathteerk’s mind, the latter of which was becoming rapidly more unhinged with each passing moment.

He scowled. “Are you going to eat that, or just keep playing about in it?”

The yak looked up, its unseen glare drilling into the gargoyle. It looked down at the hay pile, gave a derisive snort, and stuck out its tongue.

Sharathteerk scowled. “Oh, so we’re being  _ picky _ now, are we?” he hissed. “Well, I’m so sorry that our accommodations aren’t up to your standards. Would you like a mint? Perhaps some towels? Or maybe… a hot bath?”

Shrieking with laughter, Sharathteerk grabbed a pail laid by the watering trough. He scooped up an icy bucketful and flung it over the yak, which landed on it with a splash. “Ha! Your dinner’s all damp now, but I don’t want to hear any more complaints!”

The yak sneezed, shaking the moisture off itself. Much to Sharathteerk’s disappointment, the bulk of its hair seemed to have protected it from most of the deluge; if anything, it now looked slightly fluffier. 

Even worse, he realized, was the fact that the area had now attained a heavy stench of  _ yak mouillé. _

He growled, setting the bucket down.  _ At the very least, _ he thought,  _ it will teach the filthy thing a lesson. _

He looked up. The yak was no longer in the cell.

“What!?” Sharathteerk screeched, hurriedly scanning the enclosure. The door was still closed and locked, the hay was still there. Nothing, aside from the conspicuous yak-shaped hole in the foreground, seemed off. 

The gargoyle shook his head. “It can’t be…” he muttered. “Did that dratted human sneak in while I wasn’t looking…?”

The sound of scrunching hay brought him to his senses. Sharathteerk turned around to see the contemptible yak standing in a pile of unused hay bales, munching away happily. 

“You!” Sharathteerk howled, to which the yak paid no mind. “Get back in your holding cell!”

The yak didn’t budge. Sharathteerk hissed. 

“Fine!” he said. “We’ll have to do it my way, then.”

The gargoyle stomped over to the yak, which hadn’t moved, and gave it a mighty shove.

The yak raised a singular foot, and put it down slightly ahead of where it originally lay.

Sharathteerk growled, and gave the yak another push. Marginally, the yak stepped towards the cell. 

The gargoyle sighed. “This is going to take some time…”

* * *

After an hour of pushing, shoving, threatening, cajoling, and several instances of trodden-on gargoyle toes, the yak was finally secure in the cell once more.

Sharathteerk collapsed on the ground with a heavy sigh. “Never again…” he muttered. “Next time, I say we steal that damn shield directly…”

He looked at the yak, which was still chewing at its cud. 

“To Infernus with you!” he growled. “Whatever little trick you used to escape last time, it won’t work now. I’m watching you.”

The yak simply snorted, swallowing the last of its cud with a quiet gulp. It shook its head, and then stepped forward….

Through the cell wall, shimmering with spiritual energy as it emerged on the other side. Wagging its tail happily, it trotted over to the hay pile, munching once more.

The howl Sharathteerk unleashed could be heard all the way to Trollheim. 

* * *

Zemouregal paced up and down the room impatiently, glancing at the scrying pool in the center every several seconds. Its wavering waters showed the ritual marker, lightly dusted with snow; the plane around it was barren and unmoving.

“Where are they?” he muttered. “Does that accursed adventurer not care for his mangy animal at all?”

He glared at the pool. “My patience grows  _ thin _ ,” he said, to no-one in particular. 

He scowled. “Hmph. Perhaps I’ll have to send the pathetic World Guardian another lesson — perhaps one of his precious beast’s body parts in the post…”

Turning away from the scrying pool, he exited, stomping down the hallways of his fortress, slightly stooping from the regrettably-architectured ceiling. 

“Sharathteerk!” he shouted. “Fetch me the torture kit!”

No reply came. Zemouregal raised an eye ridge. “Sharathteerk? Answer when I beckon you!”

A withered groan drifted down the hallway, from the direction of the jail room. Zemo, now growling in frustration, marched over to the door. 

“Listen here, you stone-headed nincompoop,” he hissed. “If you think that you can ignore my direct order just because you’re oh-so-busy looking after a stinking pile of —”

He opened the door. The room was empty, save for a singular gargoyle laying in a pile of hay, unmoving and smelling distressingly of yak. As he looked closer, Zemouregal noticed that his body now bore several bruises in the shape of hooves.

“Sharathteerk!” the mahjarrat screeched. “What are you doing? Where is the creature?!”

Wordlessly, shakingly, the gargoyle raised an arm, pointing it to the next room over.

“How...?” Zemouregal said. 

“I. Don’t. Know.” Sharathteerk said muffledly, not lifting his head out of the hay. “Damn. Spirit. Animal.”

“You  _ fool _ !” Zemouregal howled. “He’s in the potions room now! Do you know what havoc he could wreak? And after my latest experiments with those combination brews…”

Sharathteerk sat bolt upright. “My lord,” he said urgently. “Don’t tell me you left the overload stock out.”

Zemouregal paled. “Oh, no….”

Deep within Zemouregal’s fortress, smelling of cud and hay and bulkage, something began to rumble. 

* * *

Prez trudged through the snow, the considerable weight of his pack dragging him deeper into the drifts. Alla kept up beside him, her bow at ready as she watched for movement in the blinding white. 

“We took too long,” he said, despairingly. “Zemouregal‘s probably done horrible things to him already… I should have been watching him better!”

Alla touched his arm, and when he looked over, she could see that his eyes watered. 

“Prez,” she said, softly. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a smart yak, you know that.”

“But he managed to get caught!” he cried. “If anything’s happened to him…”

“We’ll get him back, ok?” she said, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. “And when we do, I’ll hold up Zemouregal while you’re punching him…”

Her foot hit something dark in the snow, and she stopped. “Say,” she said, carefully. “Didn’t there used to be a fortress here?”

Prez looked around. Shaking his head confusedly, he pulled out a tattered map. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure…”

He looked up. The plain in front of them was littered with a few crumbled old ruins, black against the pale ground. Which was odd, considering that they should be covered by now if they were so old...

“Prez,” Alla said, her voice filled with alarm. “Something’s moving…!”

A large lump of snow ahead of them was rumbling. Tensing, Prez grabbed his scythe and prepared to swing, while Alla leveled her bow at the shaking drift. 

Something within the snow shifted, and the pile exploded, showering them both with ice. And, underneath, hair covered in chunks of frost, and smelling of cud and hay and bulkage…

“Baroo!” Prez cried, racing over to the yak. Baroo let out a happy snort, licking Prez’s face as the adventurer tackled him in a hug.

“Baroo, Baroo… you silly yak, I thought I lost you!” Prez said, squeezing him tightly. “Where have you been?” He sniffed. “And why does your breath smell like an overload?”

“ _ Baroo, _ ” the yak said. 

“Oh well,” Prez said. “It doesn’t matter. You’re safe now. C’mon, let’s get home and get you some hay…”

The trio departed, unmindful of the snow that softly fell on them. Or of the two other, smaller piles of snow that were wriggling behind them.

Zemouregal‘s head popped out from under a drift, the melting frost slowly turning to steam as he simmered with anger. Sharathteerk emerged next to him, shaking snow off of his hood.

“If, my lord, I may suggest,” the gargoyle said, “that next time we kidnap a companion of the World Guardian, we ensure they have a corporeal form? And, perhaps, a better temper?”

“Oh, shut up.”

**Author's Note:**

> *As, of course, it always did for a land with fixed weather patterns.
> 
> **And pickpocketing.
> 
> ***Pineapples. They were pineapples. But you probably already know this.


End file.
